Sick
by RobertDowneyJrLove
Summary: Ilsa has a cold and ends up in Chance's bed. So, how do they both end up sick? Contains shirtless Chance!


_Oh dear God! _

She couldn't remember ever feeling this close to death before. If ever there was a time when she just wanted to curl up in a ball and let her body work itself out, now was most definitely the time. Her entire body trembled violently with each deep, burning cough. Her throat felt like it was rebelling against her as each cough brought on a wave of sharp, fiery pain that felt like something akin to a fiery blade being raked down her throat. She shuddered as the cough gave way to a chill that felt as if it was freezing her to the bone, clenching around each muscle and raising her skin in thousands of bumps. The words on her computer screen had long ago melded into a fuzzy blur of inky black.

"Ilsa?" His voice was soft and soothing and she almost moaned in relief when she felt his arms come around her and lift her up out of the chair.

"Mr. Chance?" She didn't recognize the raspy sound of her own voice, only the deep burn that trying to speak caused.

He didn't say a word, just tightened his hold on her as he carried her up the stairs and through the maze that seemed to be his place. The cool, comforting softness the encased her when he placed on his bed was soothing and almost immediately she could feel the sleep tugging at her eyelids. He slipped her shoes off of her feet and tossed them down at the foot of the bed before moving to retrieve some pajamas for her. He found the cleanest pair of sweatpants in his drawer and a t-shirt and turned back to the bed, only to find Ilsa already asleep, on top of the covers, still dressed in her skirt and blouse.

He didn't want to wake her up but he knew that if he didn't, she was going to get uncomfortable in her clothes and inevitably discomfort was followed by her trying to rid herself of her clothing. He was tortured enough as it is, he didn't need her trying to undress in front of him. Resigning himself to the fact that it was either wake her up or find himself in a very uncomfortable situation, he walked over to the bed and reached over to shake her awake. "Ilsa, wake up...wake up, you need to change clothes."

Chance watched as her eyes opened slowly and she managed to groggily register where she was before raising her head to look at him. "What?"

"You need to change." He told her, holding the clothes where she could see them. "You're going to get uncomfortable and over heated in that suit."

She nodded, her black curls bouncing messily against her collarbone as she took the clothes from him and rolled out of the bed. Her shoulders were slumped forward in exhaustion and he could hear her rattled breathing all the way to the bathroom. Never had he ever seen a woman so sick and so exhausted that she could barely move. Correction, never had he ever seen Ilsa like that.

"I'm going to run to the drugstore and pick up some stuff." Chance told her once she emerged from the bathroom in the clothes he had given her.

She barely managed a nod before she collapsed in the bed and slid under the covers, her eyes closing once again. He grabbed his wallet and keys before jogging down the stairs and over to the elevator. He hated to leave her but he knew that he didn't have the proper supplies to take care of her like she needed.

A quick run to the drugstore turned into a run to the grocery store to buy some soup and other necessities for his sparcely supplied kitchen. It was nearly an hour later when he finally jogged back up the stairs, bags in hand. He made his way over to the bed and found Ilsa curled up into a tiny ball under the covers, even under the thick blanket he could see her body shuddering violently. Her teeth chattered together, and her bottom lip quivered.

"Cold." Ilsa managed through her chattering teeth.

"I can see that." Chance mumbled as he kicked off his shoes and crawled into bed with her.

Immediately sensing the presence of warmth, she instinctively curled closer to him, nuzzling her face into the warmth of his neck and resting her head against his shoulder. He pulled the covers up around them both and wrapped his arm around her, rubbing her back through her shirt. Her eyes were glassy and her face flushed, a good indication that if he were to feel her forehead, he would find it was feverish. Chance knew that a fever could wreak absolute havoc on your body temperature. The extremes between hot and cold felt like literal death. It was a mix of the ninth circle of hell itself and something that closely resembled the Arctic circle.

"Just relax," Chance murmured into her hair. "It's easier to warm up if you relax."

Ilsa instinctively pulled herself closer to the delicious warmth of his body heat, even through his jeans and t-shirt, stretching out against him and tangling her legs with his. The warmth of his hand seeping through her shirt relaxed her and it wasn't long until sleep pulled at her body, wrapping her in a warm cocoon of unconsciousness as an inky blackness surrounded her and her eyes pulled shut, unable to stay open.

xxx

Chance sighed as he let the hot spray of his shower beat down on his back. He could feel the tight clench in his muscles release under the pressure of the hot water and almost groaned in relief. He adored Ilsa and most of the time his bed was comfortable but it wasn't when you were laying in the same position for almost the whole day. He had barely managed to slip out without waking Ilsa but he had needed a shower before he even thought about getting back in that bed. Once the hot water had sufficiently done it's job, he turned the shower off and stepped out. Grabbing a towel, he quickly dried off and got dressed in a pair of sweatpants. He stepped out of the bathroom, scrubbing water from his hair with a towel.

_"Hmph!" _

Ilsa's muffled groan from his bed made him look over at her. Her glassy eyes were focused intently on him and was she licking her lips?

"What?" Chance asked her innocently, looking down at his bare torso.

"I'm sick, most likely contagious and you're shirtless. Meaning I can't kiss you senseless." Ilsa rasped, ignoring the burning pain that raked down her throat.

Not only that but he had to get back in bed and inevitably, Ilsa would curl into him. Having Ilsa's soft body pressed against his bare torso was possibly the worst form of torture, especially when she was sick and he couldn't kiss her completely senseless without possibly getting sick himself. Ah hell! He hadn't really thought that whole shirtless thing through, had he?

"I'm going to go downstairs and lock everything up. Do you need anything?" Chance asked her, "Soup? Water?"

"No food." Ilsa shook her head, "Just water. Ice water."

He nodded and started downstairs. Ilsa burrowed back into the bed, content to just lay there and listen to him sing to himself as he locked up downstairs. She rubbed her eyes, ridding them of the last remaining sleepiness as Chance jogged back up the stairs, a large glass of ice water in his hand. She reluctantly sat up in bed, bringing the blankets with her as he made his way to the bed.

"Thank you," Ilsa smiled softly as she took the proffered glass from him. She took a sip, letting the icy liquid soothe the raw tissue of her throat as it trickled down.

"Better?" Chance asked her as he settled against the headboard beside her.

"Much." Ilsa nodded.

She leaned her head on his shoulder, letting her eyes close. "I hate being sick."

"It's not fun for anyone, Ilse." Chance laughed, looking down at the top of her head.

Ilse.

He had called her Ilse again. Nobody, not even her husband, had ever called her Ilse. Nobody had ever given her a nickname or a pet name. Her husband had let the occasional 'sweetheart' or 'honey' slip but those were few and far between, much preferring to call her Ilsa. She could never figure out why Chance called her Ilse when nobody had ever called her that before.

"Why do you call me Ilse?" Ilsa looked up at him questioningly as she brought the glass of ice water up to her lips. "Nobody has ever called me Ilse, so why do you?"

"I like your name, Ilsa, but after everything with Hector Lopez and the investigation into your husband's death, whenever I would try to call you Ilsa, it would always bring back memories of what happened." Chance admitted in a rare moment of vulnerability. "I call you Ilse because it doesn't bring up the memories."

"I'm sorry, I didn't know." Ilsa shook her head.

"Don't apologize." Chance told her softly, looking down at her. "You're the only woman I've ever done it with."

"You know," Ilsa changed the topic, twisting around to set her glass on his bedside table before turning back to face him. "I'm feeling a little better."

"Really?" Chance raised his eyebrows, already knowing what she wanted. "I thought you were contagious."

Ilsa reached across his body and rested her hand on his shoulder, pulling him around. "I think we can manage to take care of each other if you get sick."

"I'm okay with that." Chance shrugged as he rolled them over and crashed his lips against hers, unable to resist.

Needless to say by the next morning, not only was Ilsa still sick but the kisses from the night before had made Chance sick as well. The chicken soup and the cold medicine that he had bought with the intention of taking care of Ilsa, was needed by both of them.

Somehow, they were both okay with that.

* * *

><p><strong>So I know it seemed like Ilsa was really sick and then suddenly okay enough to kiss Chance, but let's face it, Chance alone is enough to make you feel better, so imagine having him hold you while you sleep. Guaranteed cure for anything that ails you ;-P Niagaraweasel, this is the story I told you about! I hope you like it! You rock! Leave me some love, Dolls!<strong>

**Love, **

**RobertDowneyJrLove **

**P.S. I may go back and add more later. I haven't decided yet. **


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